


a lot of last chances

by ceruleanVulpine



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Canon-Typical Bald-Faced Lying, Canon-Typical Eye-bleeding, Consensual Mind Reading, M/M, Pink Elephants, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8353459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleanVulpine/pseuds/ceruleanVulpine
Summary: “Juno, how could I possibly be scared of you? You are impressively competent, but I could subdue you with sheer animal magnetism and the contents of my pockets.”---Nebulously post-Miasma, Juno and Nureyev talk about trust some more and make objectively inadvisable decisions re: mind-reading.Edit: Written /before/ episode 16, and no longer canon-compliant. But hey, my mind-reading practice story is less horrifying than canon.





	

"Here,” Nureyev says, leaning over the arm of Juno’s beaten-up couch to drop a note onto his face. “I made an appointment for you. With a competent doctor. Don't miss it.”

Juno reaches up to grab the note and squints at it in confusion. A date and an address. “What? Why?”

“Oh, can't I be concerned for your health? You're in a very dangerous line of work, detective.”

And that line of work is twice as dangerous for Nureyev’s involvement. Juno rolls his eyes and crumples the note in his hand. “Cut the crap. What's this about?”

“Really, Juno, I know you can be willfully blind,” Nureyev says, leaning in to pluck the piece of paper from Juno’s grasp and delicately smoothing it out, “but I would have thought that even you would have difficulty missing a pint of blood issuing from your eyes.”

Juno scoffs. “Please, that wasn't anywhere near a pint. It didn't even make me woozy.”

“And you can't believe I worry about you,” Nureyev says faintly. “No, Juno, what you need is someone who will succeed in removing the substance from your system, not merely tell you they have. I simply cannot have you going about expelling jets of blood like an exotic Martian lizard.”

“You're thinking of an Earth lizard. The Martian ones shoot acid.” At Nureyev’s irritated look, Juno sits up and turns to face him, cross-legged on the couch. “I don't get it. This... weird Martian _thing_... saved your ass today, more than once. And you want to get rid of it? Not that I'm really thrilled about the self-experimentation thing, mind you, but passing up an advantage? Doesn't sound like you.”

Nureyev keeps sternly frowning. Juno crosses his arms, and looks away at the muted viewscreen on the wall, which is showing some famous, unlucky bastard getting led out of a building in cuffs. A bright-haired reporter chatters silently at the camera. Juno discovers that he is angry — at being treated like a child, at whatever transparently present ulterior motive he isn’t being told as usual, at whatever. At Nureyev, is the point. “It doesn’t sound like you,” he repeats, “at least as far as I have any goddamn way of knowing what you sound like.”

“Juno!” Nureyev says, scolding, but when Juno turns to snap at him he looks genuinely upset. For whatever that’s worth. He throws up his hands. “If you intend to cast doubt on my identity every time we disagree — well. Believe me or don’t. I can’t change your mind.”

This is so unlike his previous insistence that Juno somehow owes him trust that Juno, tumbling through a suddenly-inverted emotional landscape, manages for once in his life to rein his anger in before he ruins everything. He forces himself to shut up without saying anything even more stupid. Some part of him — certainly not the part that contains his better judgement — makes him reach out a hand towards Nureyev’s face.

And Nureyev flinches. He catches himself almost immediately, relaxing and leaning forward into the touch, but if there were such a thing as PI school, Juno wouldn’t have made it through on his looks alone. Understanding hits him like a state-of-the-art train-slash-vault, and he pulls his hand away.

“You're scared of me,” he says.

“Of course I’m not.” Much too quick of an answer. He must have expected the question, sooner or later.

“Lying doesn’t help your case!”

“Juno, how could I possibly be scared of you? You are impressively competent, but I could subdue you with sheer animal magnetism and the contents of my pockets.”

“Hey! That’s not —” He catches the distraction, though they’ll have to come back to that question some other time. “— the _point_. Come on, Nureyev. Don’t tell me you’re allergic to my nail polish or something.”

Nureyev holds his gaze for several seconds, then sighs theatrically. “Fine. No. Detective, I’m _not_ scared of you. I’ve trusted you with my life, yes. But it’s difficult to overcome a natural inclination to privacy. The thought of anyone pawing through my thoughts is… uncomfortable.”

“I don’t _paw_ ,” Juno protests. There’s a moment of quiet, and he rallies, “Not at your _thoughts_ , anyway. I’m sure we could work something else out.”

“Is that so,” says Nureyev. He sinks to his knees at the side of the couch, so that Juno is, at least momentarily, taller than him, and pulls him into a kiss. There isn’t a trace of hesitation. The sensible part of Juno points out how little that means, that Nureyev’s the best actor he’s ever met, but the sensible part of Juno is quickly overruled. The angle is awkward and makes his neck hurt, but damn it if he isn’t going to give as good as he gets. “Pawing” is beginning to be an accurate descriptor and Juno is about to haul Nureyev bodily onto the couch, relative height be damned, when Nureyev flattens his hand against Juno’s chest and pushes him away.

Juno stares at him in bewilderment. Nureyev is wide-eyed and slightly flushed, hair falling into his eyes. “Juno,” he says.

“That’s me, yeah,” Juno answers, impatience warring with confusion and a really distracting level of attraction.

“Juno, maybe you should. Practice.”

“What?” All rational thought seems to have vacated Juno’s head. He desperately tries to marshal it back into place. “Practice… _mind-reading_?”

“Yes.”

“Here? Now?”

“Yes.”

“On you?!”

“Yes, you absolute idiot,” Nureyev says fondly. “It’s not like me to pass up an advantage, or so I hear, and I doubt you’ll learn well if you only try to use your newfound skill when both of our lives are in danger.”

“But you… I…” Juno can’t tell if his brain is still on vacation or if this is just regular Juno Steel brand stupidity. “This is a very bad idea,” he manages.

“I want to try it,” says Nureyev, valiantly.

“What happened to ‘no more horror-movie eye-bleeding, darling’?”

“Your impression of me is terrible, and I'm assured you've lost more blood before and been perfectly alright.”

“And you're …” Juno takes a deep breath. “I'm not actually that much of an asshole. I … don't want to push you, Nureyev.”

“That's unbearably sweet of you. I want you to try it.”

Nureyev’s voice is just barely unsteady. A better person than Juno Steel might insist on holding off. But, as Juno has discovered over and over to his dismay, he's really, very, extremely bad at saying no to Nureyev. He forces himself to focus. Tries to recall the bizarre feeling of the thing, like falling out of himself. Which isn’t a reassuring metaphor. He can’t help but picture himself standing on the edge of a dark, deep pit full of things he probably doesn’t want to know. Then he isn’t picturing anything, because he’s

 

looking at juno, juno, juno, who he never expected to care so much about, who he never thought would be this _brilliant_ , whose eyes are falling closed in the absence of conscious thought, head falling forward limp, capillaries surely bursting, but he never looks red eyed, did he look red eyed before, maybe it’s his tear ducts? that’s morbid, juno’s going to hear him being dreadfully morbid, juno’s _hearing_ him, or maybe juno is rifling through his history like, well, a thief, ironically enough, can he do that? god, can he do that? don’t think about, that’s a fool’s game, pink elephants, he would tell juno anything, well, probably, at least, but not this way, why did he do it then, stupid, yes he knows he’s stupid for juno, juno… is bleeding

juno. wake up.

 

His face is wet.

Juno comes back to himself abruptly. Nureyev is staring up at him with an expression that would have been unreadable five minutes ago, his hand hovering by Juno’s head as though he can’t decide what to do with it. Juno doesn’t know what to say. He’s not good at any of this. He’s in so far over his head that he can’t even see the surface — so far over his head that he doesn’t even know which way he’d start swimming if he wanted to go up. He’s terrified. Well, at least he’s not alone in that.

The drop of blood that’s been making a daring bid for escape this whole time falls onto Nureyev’s cheek. “Shit,” Juno says, and without thinking he licks his thumb and tries to wipe the blood away, leaving a broad red streak across Nureyev’s cheekbone. Nureyev’s expression transforms into one of utter bafflement, which is so perfectly unexpected that Juno can’t help laughing.

“Christ, we’re a pair of idiots. Come here,” he says, and pulls on Nureyev’s arm until he unfolds and settles onto the couch with him. He’s too overwhelmed even to be irritated by the way his head fits under the other man’s chin, even though he can feel the smugness radiating from Nureyev. “The bleeding’s not great,” he says.

“What? Oh. No.”

They sit.

“So I couldn’t exactly be subtle about it, anyway,” Juno points out. “But I … won’t do it. Without asking. I … promise.”

“Oh, please, detective, you don’t have to —”

“Shut up,” says Juno, knocking the top of his head against Nureyev’s jaw. “Let me do this stupid thing.”

“Very well, if you insist,” says Nureyev, airily. Then, more quietly: “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you owe me one.”

“As I’m sure you know, Juno, I’d be willing to pay you back in whatever way I could.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Just… stay a little while,” Juno says, and closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Damn AO3 user luckydicekirby for getting me into this podcast. Damn her, I say! jk i love you thx for the motivation to write fic. 
> 
> The title is from the song "Palace" by Dessa, the lyrics of which are extremely appropriate to Juno Steel in general and this fic in particular. 
> 
> oh that trouble you've been looking for  
> it came looking for you  
> you shouldn't open doors  
> you don't plan to walk through
> 
> See? Alas, "shouldn't open doors you don't plan to walk through" is too long for a title.


End file.
